From the desk of Jennifer Lohmann:
I'm finishing up the final proofs of my September, 2014 release right now: Winning Ruby Heart. No cover yet, though I'm really looking forward to this one!
"Ruby almost didn’t hear the knock on the hotel room door over the runner describing an injury and the painting that had resulted from it. The shuffle of her bare feet was silent on the carpet. Through the peephole she only saw the door of the hotel room across the hall and the thick fingers of a man’s hand, distorted by the glass. She was debating ignoring the prank when she heard, “Ruby Heart, I know it’s you.” It was Micah.
Her shoulders fell, causing a ripple of soreness through her body. The story of her life.
Winning Ruby Heart is available for pre-order!
From the desk of Julie Johnstone:
This is from my wip tentatively titled My Fair Duchess.
Amelia moved back a step, and as she did, banging started at the front door. “That has to be Philip!” she cried, her heart pumping with relief for his sake and theirs that he was home. She flew to the door and threw it open, her brother’s name dying on her lips.
“You’re not Philip.” She could think of nothing more to say, at least nothing sensible. Her mind seemed suddenly dazed by the towering man before her with the sun kissed skin that showed above his cravat and peeked out from under the golden whiskers covering his face. Maybe it was his great height, or the fine-drawn bones making her thoughts scatter. She sucked in her lower lip under her top teeth, her thoughts tumbling one over the other. Perhaps it was his startling hazel eyes and sinful black lashes. Yes, that was most certainly it. All of those attributes plus the wavy hair that gleamed like dark gold. Yes, yes. Each of those things muddled her head but mostly it was his eyes―assessing, by the slant, and in turn amused, by the fine lines suddenly crinkling around the edges―that confused her the most.
Blast! She was not a silly, senseless girl, but he was too handsome to be real, yet his wide chest rose and fell with each breath proving her most assuredly silly. “You’re not Philip,” she murmured again, suddenly hot and her tongue thick.
“I am not,” he agreed, surveying her with interest. He scrubbed a large hand over his face, a massive gold crest ring on his finger catching the candlelight and glinting as he moved.
“Who are you,” Amelia demanded, feeling foolish for the way he had affected her. While she did not know everyone in town, she had lived here all her life and knew most people or had heard about them. No man who filled out a kerseymere coat as exquisitely as this man did and stood four powerfully built inches taller than all other men she knew could avoid being the talk of the town. There were far too many single ladies here. Amelia set her hands on her hips as she felt her mother and Lord Worthington come up to stand behind her.
The stranger raised his brows at her question. “Who am I? Don’t you recognize me?” His mouth twitched with an almost smile.
Amelia furrowed her brow and shook her head. “No. Should I?”
He eyes raked over her from head to toe, traveling with a sort of insolence over the drab gray dirt-smudged gown she wore and lingering with an odd look of amusement on her hair. Amelia raised a hand to her head and grimaced. Her knot had come partially loose, and soft edges of hair poked out in every direction from the lump atop her head.He smiled, and the way it lit his eyes to a brilliant green made her catch her breath. Offering a partial bow, he said, “I suppose Harthorne didn’t regale you with stories about me as he did me about you. I’m undecided whether I should be offended or grateful.”
From the desk of Samantha Grace:
I'm happily writing the third book in my Rival Rogues series, A Good Rogue is Hard to Find. It's predecessor, In Bed with a Rogue, will be released September 2, 2014 and it's available for pre-order! The third book in the series is about Eve Thorne, Baron Thorne's poor jilted sister, and the man who left her at the altar two years earlier, Benjamin Hillary. I hope you enjoy the sneak peek.
PS - I debated inserting a filler for my "XXX code", but I decided to leave it so you get a true peek at the process. One of my critique partners giggles every time she sees my triple X designation.
Ben continued a slow circle of the brightly lit ballroom, stopping occasionally to study the couples as they sashayed past, their cheeks pink from exertion. After several moments, he was satisfied Lord Wellham wasn’t among the dancers, not that Ben was surprised. If his memory served, the earl favored gambling over gamboling.
Reaching a secluded corner near a dark alcove, he paused to check once more for his quarry before he sought out the card room. He didn’t want to overlook Wellham and miss his opportunity to speak with him after the trouble he’d gone through to gain access to the ball.
“What are you doing here?” a voice hissed. “You are not on the guest list.”
“Pardon?” Ben spun toward the speaker and came up short. His eyebrows veered toward each other. “How do you know?” he whispered back to the mass of green palm fronds.
“Because I helped make the list.” The plant’s fronds parted, and Eve Thorne’s stern glare greeted him. What the devil was she doing?
Her frown deepened when he simply stared, at a loss for words. “Do you have a death wish, Mr. Hillary?”
The corners of his mouth twitched up. “Let me guess, you’ve been attacked by a man-eating plant. Are you in need of rescue, kitten?”
She growled softly and the fronds snapped back into place. Ben checked the surrounding area to be certain they hadn’t earned any unwanted attention, then peered around the massive greenery. Eve was wedged against the wall, her XXX (color) skirts crushed against the large pot. Her chest rose and fell in rapid movements, drawing his attention to the modest swell of her breasts peeking above her lacey neckline. A rosy glow infused her ivory skin, making the sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks almost unnoticeable.
God, he had missed her—her freckles, her pouty lips, her soulful brown eyes. He had been smitten from the moment he had spied her at Almack’s her first Season, and two years on a faraway continent had done nothing to lessen his ardor.
“What are you doing back there, dearling, and shouldn’t you have a chaperone?”
She crossed her arms as if erecting a wall between them. “God only knows why, but I am trying to save your skin, Benjamin James Arran Hillary.”
Damnation. He had forgotten he’d been burdened with so many names, or that she had a habit of invoking every one when she was perturbed. His smile spread. Despite her pretense of indifference, she was worried for him. “Am I to conclude your skulking about means you still care?”
Giveaway!!! Julie is donating an ebook copy of What a Rogue Wants to one Lady Scribes commenter today. Just let us know in the comments that you are interested in be part of the drawing, and please don't forget your email so we can contact you if your name is chosen.